Chapter Text
The Tokyo rain punished the roof of the biology wing, a rhythmic drumming that drowned out the world. Nakamura stood outside the door, his chest tight with a panic that tasted like cold metal. Summoned by his teacher, he naturally assumed he was in trouble for his failing grades or his persistent stutter. He walked in expecting a scolding, completely unaware that he was stepping into the total slaughter of his innocence.
The lab smelled of glass jars and suffocating formaldehyde. At the back, his teacher sat impeccable in his lab coat, shrouded in the jaundiced glow of a desk lamp.
"Precisely on time, Nakamura-kun," his teacher said, his voice a silken thread. "I was just wondering if Hirose-kun might have been a more resilient choice for tonight's session."
"N-no! I’m here!" Nakamura’s voice cracked. "Please, don't involve Hirose-kun."
His teacher smiled and locked the door.
The sound of the bolt clicking into place sent a jolt through Nakamura. Before he could process the demand to strip, the older man cornered him against the workbench. He gripped Nakamura’s jaw with bruising force, tilting his head back to consume him. It was a heavy, adult invasion; his teacher sucked on his tongue with predatory hunger, dragging it into his own mouth, delivering sharp, rhythmic bites to Nakamura’s lower lip that drew the copper taste of blood. The sting of teeth and the overwhelming weight of the man’s saliva sent Nakamura into a state of total sensory shock. This was his first kiss, a violent, suffocating theft.
His teacher's hands traveled down, mauling Nakamura’s thighs with a territorial grip before shoving him toward the autopsy table.
"Get on," he commanded. "Face down. Arch your back for me. Higher. I need you fully accessible."
Nakamura obeyed out of a paralyzed fear, the freezing metal burning his skin. His teacher leaned over him, his hands sliding under the boy’s chest to pinch and suck his nipples with a deliberate, sharp aggression that wrung out cries of shock and pain. There was no preparation. The man entered Nakamura’s virgin body with a dry, brutal force; a shock that tore him open from the inside out. Nakamura let out a muffled scream, his body arching violently as he felt split apart by a hot iron.
As his teacher began to drive into him with mechanical violence, Nakamura’s mind fractured. He stared at a dead specimen in a jar until the world became a blurry, distant hum. Why me? he thought through the haze of dissociation. Is it because I’m gay? Did he see how I look at Hirose-kun and decide to punish me? He’s punishing me. He knows what I am and he’s breaking me for it.
"Be grateful, Nakamura," the man hissed, winding his fingers into the boy's hair and pulling his head back sharply. The strokes were violent and deep, the sound of flesh colliding against steel echoing in the lab. Near the end, his teacher let out a low growl and pressed with total force against Nakamura's hips. The boy felt the man's body convulse, followed by a sickening, pulsing warmth filling his interior; a final invasion of thick fluid marking his ruined body forever.
When his teacher finally withdrew, Nakamura lay broken, trembling in involuntary spasms. He felt the warm, visceral flow of blood and semen running down his thighs. The man straightened his tie and tossed a heavy tan envelope onto the boy's chest. "A successful lesson. You’ve guaranteed his peace for another week, Nakamura-kun."
Nakamura crawled across the floor to reach his clothes, a wounded animal on the cold cement. Every movement was torture, the fabric of his trousers abrasive against his ruined, bleeding flesh and the slick, drying fluid leaking down his legs.
The Tokyo rain continued to lash down, blurring the city lights into trembling smears as Nakamura leaned against the cold iron gate just outside the school entrance, his body screaming in protest while he watched Hirose standing only meters away. Beneath the pale glow of a streetlamp, Hirose radiated a vibrant, effortless normalcy that felt like a lifetime away from the laboratory; he was laughing with friends, his uniform crisp and untainted, serving as a cruel reminder of everything Nakamura had just lost.
When Hirose finally noticed him and stepped forward with a look of genuine concern, Nakamura instinctively clutched his coat shut to hide his tremors and the visceral ruin staining his trousers, forced to choke out a hollow lie about being "just tired" to keep the other boy at a distance. As Hirose reached out to offer the shelter of his umbrella, the once-coveted touch felt like a live wire against an open wound, forcing Nakamura to flinch away and plead with him to go on alone.
He stood anchored to the gate, watching the only light in his life disappear into the dark street. He felt it then; a heavy, damp warmth soaking through the fabric. Looking down, he saw the dark, visceral stain blooming through the crotch of his grey trousers, tracking down his thigh in a slow crimson crawl. The blood and his teacher's semen were escaping him, a visible proof of his ruin. He stood silently drowning in the cold weight of the invasion, a ghost who could never truly stand in Hirose's light again.